Little Insecurities
by Crying Rivers
Summary: "So Lance was short? Arthur thought, walking down the corridor. He seems to be blowing this whole thing out of proportion, it's not THAT bad."


"Arthur, am I… short?"

Lance was looking at himself in the mirror, turning around and comparing his height with various objects in the room. Arthur sat on his bed, head deep in a comic book he had in his hands. They clammed with the sudden question.

"Ummm um…" he stuttered. He couldn't bring himself to lie. Lance _was_ short, shorter than just about everyone in the academy. He'd tried to keep the subject of height out of conversation. He didn't want to hurt his friend, and didn't want to let the hard facts escape his lips.

Lance stared at Arthur, his foot tapping, insisting an answer. Arthur just burrowed farther down into his comic book, looking at the pages but not reading a word. He didn't like confrontation. He preferred to remain timid. He couldn't be mean, especially not to Lance, his only friend. The best response, it seemed, was silence.

"I AM SHORT!" came a cry from Lance, impatient for an answer.

"No you're not!" Arthur replied. "You're just…small-er… than everyone else." Arthur was bad at this, he wasn't good at dealing with the issues of other's. He wasn't good at helping people cope. He wasn't good at a lot of things, really.

"My feet don't touch the floor in my chair, everyone looks over me, I CAN'T EVEN SEE THE TOP OF THE CHESTER! I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT'S _UP_ THERE! I. AM. SHORT!" A large noise came from such a little body, the room nearly shook. Or maybe it'd just seemed that way to Arthur.

Arthur kept face in book, trying to avoid escalating the situation. He heard a loud huff of breath and a roof shattering door slam.

The two didn't speak to each other for hours after the mishap in the room. Actually, Lance didn't speak to ANYBODY. He kept his head down and remained silent, not even giving so much as a glance to a single being. _So Lance was short?_ Arthur thought, walking down the corridor. _He seems to be blowing this whole thing out of proportion, it's not THAT bad._

At lunch, somehow the two managed to still sit together ("like anyone else would sit next to those losers" was what Baron, the school bully, probably would've muttered to his posse), but Lance kept his head down, picking at the food on his tray. That in itself was unusual. He usually shared his lunch with Arthur (or more so, he let Arthur have it all) but today his tray remained completely full. He wasn't hungry. Arthur's tray was completely empty.

They sat in their own little silence for a few moments. Neither said a word. Neither looked at the other. Arthur couldn't take it anymore.

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?"

Lance looked up in shock. Arthur had never shown him this side.

"THIS IS CRAZY. EVERYONE HAS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THEM. Look at me! I'm a fat kid with glasses in a military school with these "top notch" soldiers. Do I LOOK like an athlete to you? I jiggle when I walk! But do you see me complaining? NO. I suck it up! Amie has ratty hair, John has a drastic overbite, and look at poor Cindy, She's CROSSEYED. LOOK AT THE POSITIVES FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE. You're a great fighter, I've never seen anyone with moves like you. You came out after a few MONTHS and surpassed even our best. But you want to come out here and complain about something as trivial as _height? _ LOOK AT YOURSELF, YOU'RE PATHETIC! GET A GRIP ON REALITY AND STOP BEING SORRY."

Lance just looked upon Arthur with utter shock. No words escaped his person. He looked down again, not indicating whether a single word had sunk in. Irritated and tired of trying, Arthur sat back down, staring at the wall.

"Wow, we heard your little speech, chubby."

Why now? Why now? Baron stood over the young boys' necks, his hot breath on their collars, and long nose seeming just too close.

"But I'd have to disagree, this pipsqueak here is nothing. He'll just go around like a tiny nuisance for his whole existence. Like he thinks, he's just a small imprint on this world, who could care? No one ever thinks about a fleas feelings, they just squash it. And you, you're just a fat lard. I'm surprised you can even move! Why are you here anyway? You should just give up try-"

"Shut up." The interjection was sudden. Lance stared at his attacker with cold eyes.

"Arthur might be big and blind, but at least he's got common sense. You shouldn't quit things just because something bothers you, everyone has a feature they don't like. Even YOU. So shut up and leave us alone"

Baron, stunned at the sudden bravery, blushed a bit and backed off. Their persecutor deterred, Lance looked at Arthur and smiled. Seeing their friendship repaired, Arthur smiled back. Aside from the obvious lesson just learned, he'd learned to be a bit bolder in his speech before things got too bad.

"You know, you are pretty short…"

Lance smacked him in the back of his head.

Maybe a bit TOO bold.

Baron walked for a minute, stroking his nose. He went from the broad base to the pointed tip and tapped the red end. A wave a sadness hit him, but he quickly cheeked up, chin held high and prominently cocky, as usual.

**MUAHAHA I suck. Wow, this story was corny and rushed at the end! Sorry, I lost another perfectly good story, so it's not as good as the first time I wrote it, how sad. Got any ideas? Tell me! I'll probably jump on it!**

**-Sincerely, Rivers.**


End file.
